Kendall Hoxsey
Your smile lights up a room.
Amy grinned, reading the note in her locker. Every morning for two weeks she came to work and found a new note. Some were encouraging, some flattering, and others just sweet.
“So, what did your mystery admirer say today?” Missy, her co-worker, leaned over her shoulder.
“Something sweet like always.” Amy folded the paper, not wanting to share too much about the notes. Missy tended to view life and sweet things cynically.
You deserve a bouquet of flowers every morning.
Amy loved working at the local grocery store. She got to know the customers and enjoyed seeing them with their kids or hearing stories about their families. She learned what they liked to cook and would let them know when special items were in stock. Except for items in the meat department. She stayed away from there for one reason. Quaid, the handsome and silently rude morning butcher.
Your eyes are as beautiful as stars.
On her first day, the manager walked her around introducing her to co-workers and Amy, wanting to be friendly, smiled and held out her hand to everyone. All of them shook her hand and verbally welcomed her. Except one. Quaid had nodded, slightly acknowledging her, but there was no smile, no handshake, and forget a “nice to meet you.” That snub stung. She liked to be friends with everyone.
Customers are lucky to have you care for them the way you do.
Missy told her later, “Oh don’t even bother with Quaid, he doesn’t talk to anyone. Just admire the view. Typical, isn’t it? Handsome guys are all jerks.”
Unfortunately, Quaid was very handsome and probably knew it.
Sunshine is nothing compared to you.
Amy tried to go about her work but, as she and Quaid were the only two in the store for about three hours beginning at five a.m., she wanted to try to establish a friendship or at least some camaraderie. But every attempt was met with a one-word response. After two weeks of trying, she decided to give up any attempt to talk to him. Besides, it was obvious someone liked her, judging by the notes. She just wished she knew who it was.
Never let anyone make you think you aren’t special.
Stop trying so hard to be friends with Quaid, she told herself over and over. You tried and he doesn’t want to.
The overhead lights flickered as the foretold storm began with a crash of thunder. The rain didn’t softly fall. It beat like a drum line at a college football game. The perfect signal that it was time for her to get home before the weather made it more difficult.
People don’t know how lucky they are to be your friend.
Amy clocked out and raced to her car, trying to avoid falling on the slippery asphalt. Getting in, she turned the key. The engine clicked but didn’t turn on. She tried a few more times but nothing. Hail clunked on the roof above her and–just her luck–her cellphone flashed that it needed to be plugged into power to recharge the battery. This is not my day.
Knock, knock. Quaid stood outside her window, getting drenched. “Need help?”
She knew nothing about car machinery except how to call Triple A. Probably best not look a gift horse in the mouth. “Yes, please. May I borrow your phone to call for a tow truck?”
“Sure. It’s in my truck.”
They both ran to his truck, Amy getting in the passenger’s side and Quaid the driver’s side. While Quaid searched through the console for his phone, she noticed a notepad with a few scraps of paper on the dashboard. One was separated from the others and the handwriting looked familiar.
I wish I could tell you how much you mean to me.
Grabbing the note off the dashboard, Amy read it once again.
“Hey!” Quaid snatched it from her.
She glanced at him. His eyes pointed down, refusing to look at her.
“It was you? Why?” She thought back to every note he wrote for her. Never had anyone made her feel so special. All his words were sweet and somewhat poetic. Traits Quaid had never shown her in person.
He remained silent.
“Quaid, please talk to me. I would like to be your friend, but you act like you want nothing to do with me.”
He took a few deep breaths. “I-I have a s-st-stutter. I get embarrassed talking to strangers. I wanted to talk to you so much, but-but writing notes seemed like the best way to tell you how I felt about you.”
“But I’m not a stranger now.” Her eyes gazed into his, which were now shining with relief and happiness. She put her hand into his and intertwined their fingers.
His fingers tightened on hers, and he pulled their joined hands to his lips and kissed the back of her hand. “Do you want to see the note I’ll have for you tomorrow morning?”
“Of course.”
One day I’ll find the courage to tell you.
Always a lover of history and reading, Kendall got her degree in history and has been dreaming of being a writer ever since she read Jane Eyre. Kendall loves to create stories while she walks the vineyard rows.
Connect with her on her website, Facebook, Instagram, or Goodreads.
Spark Flash Fiction 